


...A Will Is Not Given

by kelly_goosecock



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Hand Jobs, Immobility, M/M, Technological Kink, bdsm undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_goosecock/pseuds/kelly_goosecock
Summary: Otacon needs an excuse to take some time off. Something is wrong with Raiden, that is, other than the innumerable bullet holes and puncture wounds piercing his artificial body. They reach a compromise.This takes place in the middle of MGS4, so there are probably a few mild spoilers in there.





	...A Will Is Not Given

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy do i not know what this is even supposed to be
> 
> just forget about naomi ok she doesn't exist and otacon is gay. or maybe he's bi, i never asked.  
again i barely proofread this shit so bbbbbbenoeb kdn gl
> 
> also holy fuckin donkey balls are you telling me no one has written otacon/raiden before? of all the weird shit you fuckers write?
> 
> title is taken from "symbiotic in theory" by necrophagist

The distant, muted roar of the _ Nomad _ 's jets rumbled underneath a drumbeat of clacking keyboard keys. A reciprocating hiss wafted from the bed across the room like tortured breath, periodically punctured by the beep of some kind of sophisticated medical machinery. Hal's eyes burned in the wavering glow of his computer screen. He'd been at this for at least twelve hours… well, twelve hours _ today _, and there was still plenty to do before he felt comfortable putting his work down. The white screen seemed to throb and thrum with the pain in his eyes. A lesser man might have given in, he thought - turns out all those all-night anime marathons from when he was a kid were good for something after all. Twelve hours. Twelve hours and counting… No, the anime wasn't enough. He pawed his glasses off his head with all the care of someone on their tenth drink and began massaging his face. 

_ Shadow Moses… Shadow Moses… _ It was a mantra he found himself occasionally repeating, as if it were an ancient chant, the kind that curses you for life. Sure, it wouldn't be _ his _ boots on the ground, but the simple idea of having to return to where it all started made his stomach feel like it was trying to burrow out of his abdomen. That was not to mention Snake, of course. For Hal, worrying about Snake was a given. Who knows what kind of trauma would be rebirthed in a second pilgrimage through those cold metal halls?

He stood, stumbling towards the kitchen area. His stream of consciousness was filling up with words and images without any context or connecting thread. _ Foxhound. Rex. ArmsTech. _ It felt like he _ should've _ had something to say about it all - some kind of grand revelation or clever point to make - but no one singular thought would stay lodged within his focus for long enough to finish any kind of meaningful sentence in his head. 

"Shit…"

The expletive sounded particularly sibilant in the glinting, sterile, aluminum-adorned kitchen, rivaled only by the hiss of the tap from which Hal was now drawing himself a glass of water.

Reluctantly, he waddled back into the computer room doorway where he lingered for more than a moment, surveying the room. Perhaps he hoped that something drastic might have changed while he was gone - something that might give him an excuse to lay down and purge his throbbing head. To his surprise, he saw something fidgeting in Raiden's bed, impossible to make out in the distant light of the computer screen. Hal approached.

The cyborg lay flat on his back, arms and legs spread ever so slightly, almost like a cyberpunk Vitruvian Man. A number of tears, holes, and notches defined a painful topography upon his artificial form. What was surprising, however, was that Raiden's foot was twitching left and right. Supposedly, he should not be able to move until the transfusion was complete, and, on top of that, would require further calibration and therapy to get back to baseline. His eyes were closed, and though the rest of his body was as still as a corpse, the irregular movement of his foot continued.

_ Is he… dreaming? Like a dog? _

Now that he had a chance to pause, Hal surveyed the subtle, sloping curves of Raiden's mechanical musculature. Bionics were nothing new to Hal, especially in his line of work, but a complete body replacement… What the hell could possibly stand up to all that punishment? Nested optical fiber? Carbon nanotubes? And how could this war machine - this _ tool - _have such an elegant aesthetic? Hal was no stranger to adding bits of flair to an otherwise utilitarian design (ever wonder why Rex roars?), but it was almost as if more attention had been paid to Raiden’s form than his function. The sleek, sculpted contour of his flexors and extensors entranced Hal, whose hand was moving on its own, stretching out through the darkness towards Raiden’s forearm. 

It wasn't an inch from making contact when Raiden's eyelids snapped open like bear traps in reverse.

There was a moment of palpable silence. 

"_ Otacon?" _

The word seemed to bounce around the room as Hal withdrew, his hand restlessly shifting position - he wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

"Raiden… a-are you feeling alright?"

"I haven't felt much of _ anything _ in a long time. Anything but pain, and you get used to that."

Sheesh. Barrel of laughs, this guy. Hal remembered when he was just a plucky little bishie doofus, cartwheeling between terrorists and across broken catwalks like some kind of cartoon character… Hal supposed that _ that _wasn’t so much Raiden as it was an invention of the Patriots, an intentionally over-the-top pastiche created to test the limits of S3. Still, it was hard to watch. The guy wasn’t even living in his own body, for Christ's sake. Hal wondered how much of his insides were still human. 

"Ah- well, do you want something to drink, maybe? We've got water, juice, ginger a-"

"Don't need it. I don't get thirsty. Unless you've got something a little stiffer than that, I'll pass."

Did he have some kind of throat implants or did he just smoke a carton a day every day since the Big Shell? Did he think he sounded cool? Hal noticed that Raiden's foot twitch had ceased. Curiouser and curiouser. 

"Were you… dreaming earlier?"

Raiden glared through the dark.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Y-your foot. It was moving."

A grimace momentarily crept across Raiden's face, and a weak grumble escaped his sandpaper throat before he fell silent once more. 

"What?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

Hal felt a modicum of discomfort, but this conversation was a good distraction from his responsibilities. 

"Am I bothering you?" 

To his surprise, Raiden smirked at him - a grim smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"You're a better companion than my own thoughts, I suppose."

Hal wasn't sure if he should take that as a compliment. Raiden spoke up again before he could reply.

"What were you doing just now?"

"W-well, it's like I said, your foot was moving and twitching around, and I got curious…"

"That's not what I mean. You were reaching for me. I can't move, but I can still feel."

Hal began to shift in place once more, his hand finally finding purchase on the back of his head. His voice lacked any semblance of confidence. 

"Oh, well, you know… I'm an engineer myself, and even though I might not know a whole lot about bionics_ specifically _, I guess I'm just fixated on your body."

Having finished his sentence, Hal choked on thin air.

"Mm. That's cute, Otacon. Very romantic."

He sputtered back.

"You know I mean from a scientific perspective! You _ know _ that's what I mean!"

Raiden let out a croaking, hacking laugh, the sound of which resembled an old piece of un-greased machinery screeching to life. Hal thought it must have been a while since Raiden had a reason to laugh about anything. 

"I just… I just wanted to inspect the bionics."

"You mean 'I just wanted to touch your body.'"

Hal did not speak.

"Go ahead. Inspect away, doc. Not like I can stop you."

He didn’t squander the opportunity. Hal's fingers slid across the bundles of metamaterial that constituted Raiden's arm muscles. He was surprised, somewhat foolishly, perhaps, at the hardness of the translucent polymer 'skin' that enveloped every vital, flexible piece of Raiden's body. Hal pressed down harder, testing its resilience. It did not give way.

"You're no masseur." 

Hal jumped. 

"Y-you can feel that? ...kick_ ass! _"

Ignoring Raiden's bemused, irritated scowl, he began exploring more emphatically. His fingertips traced the seams and fasteners that gave the man his shape. The arms, shoulders, chest… they flowed together in elegant, powerful knots. Hal didn't bother hiding his enthusiasm; there was cutting edge, and then there was _ this. _

All of the sudden, Raiden's foot started moving again. It was an irregular, inhuman motion, as if a signal was being misdirected somewhere deep inside his circuitry. Hal was surprised enough to stay his hand. 

“What is _ with _ that?”

Raiden sighed.

“You really wanna know?”

A nod.

“I've got… an itch that needs scratching.”

“An itch? You get itches?”

“...in a way.”

Hal stared expectantly at Raiden, but no answer came. Not only that, but was that shame on his face? Embarrassment? This was a guy who regularly hacks apart 50-foot-tall walking tanks, what the hell would he have to be ashamed about? 

…

“Oh. _ Ohh. _Really?”

Raiden's silence was answer enough.

“You don't have some kind of endorphin emitters in there that can take care of that for you?”

“Oh, I do. It just so happens that engineers like _ you _ seem to always make the mistake of treating the human brain like a machine. Some needs can't be erased with nanomachines. Suppressed? Sure. But underneath it all, I'm still just a man, and human urges don't act like some computer program that can be graphed and modeled. I'm not even telling my foot to do that, you know. It's all cross-chatter.”

Hal had crossed his arms, listening with the kind of genuine interest one might save for a conversation that _ didn't _ involve the intricacies of cyborg masturbation. 

“Fascinating.”

“Yeah, it's real spellbinding shit.”

No amount of sarcasm could delay Hal’s train of thought. 

“Does it hurt?”

“I already told you: pain means nothing to me anymore. I just can’t afford to not be in control of my body.”

Pride restricted Raiden from divulging that the feeling was actually driving him batshit insane, like a fly that won’t leave you alone - like cyber-sexual chinese water torture. 

“So, does that mean that I…”

‘Basically just gave you a robot boner’ is how Hal wanted to finish that sentence.

“..._ aroused _… you?”

Raiden rolled his eyes.

“What, weren't you trying to? You were practically drooling…”

“I didn't mean for it to be _ sexual _! What the hell, Raiden?!”

“Well pardon - fucking - me. It's not enough that I'm stuck in this abomination of a body, I'm not allowed to have human _ feelings _ anymore, either! That's how it is, huh? You walk over here and start feeling me up and expect me to just _ decide _ not to get turned on?!”

The air was damp with conflict. Both men took deep breaths. Raiden spoke quietly.

“Sorry.”

“I-it's okay. I've invaded your space. I should be the one apologising.”

Hal turned to leave.

“Otacon.”

His motion stopped, then reversed itself. Raiden was staring up at him with an almost pitifully vulnerable look on his face.

“Don't leave me like this.”

Hal took an entire step back.

“What? I- You don't want me to-”

“I'm asking as a favor, nothing more.”

“B-but I thought you said it didn’t hur-”

The vulnerability in Raiden's eyes turned to desperation. 

“Damn it, Otacon. I can barely _ fucking _ ** _move!_ **”

Silence hung in the air like a sickly aura.

_ I can't. This is too damn weird. I can't just- _

The question came out almost reflexively.

“How do things work ‘down there’?”

Hal was taken aback by his own instinctual words. Raiden seemed more relieved than anything.

“There's a latch on my belt. I have to be willing for it to open. Underneath that, I’m still me.”

Hal's thoughts raced. This was stupid. Where did doing someone a favor and engaging in a sexual relationship cross over, again? Hal would have liked to have seen _ that _Venn diagram. Raiden had said it himself: it didn’t bother him that much. So why was he so mad now? So many questions.

Hal's hand was not as reluctant as his head. He watched as it found the latch Raiden had mentioned and pressed into it with a _ click _. The room felt otherworldly, as if he were looking down at himself from a third-person view. His mind protested, but his mind was not in control; all he could do was watch his own impulsive actions take their course. What Hal lacked in courage he made up for in curiosity, an attribute that liked to butt heads with his similarly apportioned reasoning skills. This time, curiosity was winning.

The lower, cup-like portion of Raiden's armor peeled right off. Just as promised, the area it had covered was unmistakably human. One would have been able to tell how deprived Raiden was just by looking, and would probably be impressed that he could keep something so generously sized inside such streamlined armor.

Absently, Hal spoke.

“So you don't dye your hair.”

Raiden was unconcerned with the statement that, under any other circumstances, would have surely been considered a faux pas. A moment of inaction passed before he became impatient again.

“Well?”

“It's just… I'm not sure. What does this mean?”

“Mean? It means jack shit is what it means. You're just giving me a hand. You weren't thinking this makes us an _ item _or something, were you? Get real.”

Hal wasn't thinking that per se, but now that Raiden mentioned it…

No, that was stupid, too. This sucked. Better just get it out of the way and get back to work.

“Should I just…”

“What, don’t know what to do with it? Are you kidding?”

Hal gathered as much sarcasm as he dared to toss Raiden’s way.

“Sorry if I’m a little _ reluctant _ to diddle just _ anyone _ who asks me to…” 

Raiden spat out a growl, ferocious and mean.

“If you’re not gonna do it, just leave me the hell alone.”

His body betrayed his words. He didn’t want to be left alone - far from it in fact. The twitching of his disobedient foot mirrored that of his privates, still somehow hard despite a lack of stimulation. Well, it certainly seemed like he wasn’t legitimately coming on to Hal - a miraculous feat, considering the circumstances - and it was pretty apparent that whatever cybernetic malfunction his unrequited arousal was causing was making him very uncomfortable... 

With no abundance of confidence, Hal took Raiden in his hand. It was almost strange to feel something so fleshy and familiar amidst the cold metal precision of his cyborg parts. Hal drew his hand upward with a slow squeeze. Raiden sighed - a contented sound.

As he began stroking, Hal's mind turned back to the body that lay before him. Such perfection… it should not be denied attention. Maintaining his grip on Raiden's cock, Hal allowed his other hand to traverse the ridged surface of the cyborg's abdomen. It was as hard as his arm had been, and capable of as much destruction. This drew another sound from Raiden, a surprised grunt. _ He really can feel where I touch him… _

Raiden was startlingly large and uncut. Hal might have felt envious were he not so preoccupied. He slid Raiden's foreskin back and forth across his glans, which was already becoming slightly slick with precum. It was a motion so familiar he hardly had to think about it, opting instead to focus on caressing the technological wonder before him. Hal felt his pants begin to tighten. 

_ Good lord. I don't like robots like _ ** _that_ ** _ and I definitely don't have a thing for _ ** _him_ ** _ , so can you just calm the hell down!? _

His genitals refused to obey. His erection seemed to sap its energy from his capacity for reason. _ Shut up, Hal, _ his penis said. _ You’re getting turned on whether you like it or not. Keep touching him. Feel his power, his strength. He could tear you into two clean pieces with his bare hands and still look goddamn perfect. All that, and yet you’ve got him right in the palm of your hand. Take a look, see what I mean. _Hal looked up at Raiden's face.

His lips were drawn tight, as if he were forcing some kind of sounds or words to stay inside. He noticed he was being watched, and allowed his eyes to meet Hal's. The eye contact predictably did nothing but break down Hal's effort to not get off on the whole situation. He started stroking faster. Raiden's eyebrows squirmed desperately. His brain was filled with a warm vibration like many desynchronized sawtooth waves coming back into phase. It buzzed through his flesh, through his cock, through every part of him that could feel, artificial or otherwise. 

Despite his insistence that the encounter was purely platonic, Raiden was subconsciously becoming aware of new feelings bubbling up inside that threatened to contradict his aloof, edgy front. He was not used to being so incapable, having spent however many years dispatching super-soldiers and Gekko alike, so, during his stay in the _ Nomad’ _s stiff cot, his injuries filled him with embarrassment - disgust at himself for not being able to push through and just suck it the hell up. Now, however… 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Raiden felt a twinge of fear twisting itself around his arousal like an amoeba assimilating another organism. He had just consented to perhaps the most vulnerable, personal act one can consent to. Now how hard would it be for Hal to just reach up and cover his mouth and nose? His body would provide his brain with as much oxygen as it could, but, in his damaged state, it certainly could not keep up. The thought had Raiden’s heart pumping as if he were in an active warzone. He had never associated sexual gratification with the feelings of a combat high, but the pieces fell into place in a way that just made sense. 

Disobeying what little willpower Hal’s rational mind had left, the hand that was currently massaging Raiden's abdomen travelled upward. It dragged across his chest, up his neck, and onto his cheek. For a moment, Raiden felt that his fears were about to come true. 

Human. Warmth. Hal felt the heat of Raiden's breath as he gently caressed his cheek.

“What the hell are you- ngh!”

Before the question was finished, Hal's strokes accelerated yet again. His breath was hot and ragged, and his brain was finally cracking to pieces under the pressure.

“You're not an abomination. You're beautiful. A work of art.”

_ Jesus, oh god, did I just seriously just say that cornball crap? What the hell am I trying to do? _

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Raiden didn't bother to respond. Hal was pushing him close to the edge, his cock aching and throbbing with every stroke. He was now unable to suppress the vocalizations of pleasure he was somewhat embarrassed by. 

Sputtering ropes of cum arced upwards, splattering against Raiden's stomach and chest. A sound of strained satisfaction worked its way up his throat, emerging in a wildcat-like roar. His foot fell still as the last few pumps of semen dribbled over onto Hal's hand. 

“Oh- L-let me get you cleaned up.”

Hal dashed into the kitchen and threw his hand beneath the tap. His head was filled with rationalizations of rationalizations, a web of excuses and dismissals. 

_ It was just a favor. I didn't like it. Just a favor. _

He rummaged around for a clean rag, wetting it and wringing it out. 

_ I didn't say anything weird on purpose. It just came out, it doesn't mean anything. _

Raiden was silent as Hal gingerly mopped up his mess. It wasn't the most dignifying position to be in. As his libido faded into nothingness, he felt once again like a senile old invalid, one whose basic functions like bathing and eating had to be carried out by a nurse. He would have felt even worse about it were it not for Hal's strange interjection earlier. Beautiful? A work of art? Where the hell did that come from? Hal wasn't seriously into him, was he? Raiden had to know.

“Otacon... Emmerich, I…”

On second thought, he didn't have to know right now. Didn't want to either. Fuck that. 

“...thanks.”

“S-sure.”

Hal stood for a moment, rag in hand, not speaking. His mind was currently in a civil war over whether to try and explain himself or to just ignore the situation entirely. Raiden interrupted before he could decide.

“Are you gonna cover me up or are you gonna just leave me with my dick out?”

The words jolted Hal back to attention.

“Right! Sorry.”

He snapped the fragment of armor back into place, but not before taking a lingering last look at Raiden's exposed groin. 

“So… do you feel better now?”

“Yes.”

Raiden's voice was far too cold for the one-word answer to come across as genuine. Hal had no idea how to respond, but he responded anyway.

“D-did you like it?”

Raiden's eyebrows drew so tight it seemed as if they would jump off of his face.

“What the fuck, Otacon?”

“I-I-I don't know! It was just a question! I mean, I liked-”

_ Oh shit, oh shit, reel it in, Hal. Calm the heck down, for christ's sake. _

“-uh, I mean, I would _ like _ to know, that's all.”

Raiden could see the wheels failing to turn in Hal's head. It was almost adorable. 

“Sure. I didn't mind it.”

“Really?! Er, yeah. Cool. Okay.”

One individual point of fact emerged briefly from the churning sea of Hal's mind.

“How long are you going to be stuck like this?”

Raiden saw exactly where that line of questioning was going. He sputtered out another rusty chuckle.

“Eager to go again, huh? You fucking weirdo. It'll be at least a few more days before my body heals completely. I suppose I'm at your mercy until then.”

“My… mercy? Raiden, what are you saying?”

“Emmerich… when someone gives you an opening, you should take it.”

“But I'm not- surely you don't think I'm _ into _ you?”

“You were into something, that's for sure. I won't be offended if it was just about my body and not my stellar personality.”

“Why are you _ doing _this?”

“Honestly? I got sick of watching you hem and haw over something stupid like a fuckin’ handjob. As soon as you quit lying to yourself about how you feel, you'll get over it. For now, just enjoy it. I'm sure it's the only chance you'll ever get, with me at least.”

Hal grunted a noise of recognition. Raiden's seemingly sudden change of attitude took the words away from him. Raiden wasn't done talking yet.

“It should go without saying that if you tell anyone about this, I'll put you through shit you didn't know was possible. I picked up a couple nasty tricks in the Ukraine. Some of those people are real creative killers, you know.”

“R-right.”

Another awkward silence. Hal glanced around the room, his fingers clenching and unclenching nervously.

“Well… goodnight, Raiden.”

Raiden eyed a clock on the opposite wall. It read 2:24 AM. 

“Get some goddamn sleep, Emmerich.”

  
  
  



End file.
